Lost in Shadows by CJ Lyons Read Free Book Online Page B

clung enticingly to her well-formed breasts. Lucky tried to pull his eyes away, but primal instinct prevailed over civilized manners. 
    He watched as she re-dressed in a fleece pullover followed by a zippered vest. She kicked her shoes off, pulled on two layers of socks, then did a shimmy out of her khakis that had his blood roaring.
    He’d been right about her ass. Her Lycra tights revealed every sinuous curve of her hips down to her calves. Muscled but sleek, well rounded, just like the rest of her. 
    Lucky swallowed hard against the impulse to lean her back against the bumper and let his fingers peel the layers from her, revealing the woman beneath. He imagined her moving beneath his body, graceful, matching him pleasure for pleasure as they explored each other. 
    She seemed oblivious to his lustful flight of fancy as she bent over to pull on ski pants over top of her tights, giving him a glimpse of Nirvana.
    Smokey Bear his ass. If it weren’t for the blizzard, being stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no room service or any semblance of civilization, and the men trying to kill them, this could be fun. He grinned. What the hey, carpe diem and all that.
    He sighed as she finished dressing, lacing up a pair of well-worn hiking boots and standing before him, hands on her hips, a look in her eye that he didn’t like. 
    His mother got that same look every time she visited his apartment. That “we can do better than this” look. Usually followed by some kind of hard labor on his behalf.
    “I don’t suppose you even have gloves or a hat?” she asked, her doubt at his abilities to dress himself clear in her voice.
    Lucky looked down at his leather car coat and jeans. This was what he always wore in the winter; he’d never had any problems before. 
    “I was on my way to a wedding,” he reminded her.
    “Right. Who’s the lucky girl anyway?”
    He smiled. Was that a hint of interest in Smokey’s voice? 
    “Her name’s KC—you’d like her, she’s one tough babe. Kick ass looker, too.” The glare she sent his way could have started a forest fire on its own. 
    “Is that how you think about women? Maybe this girl should be thanking me, it might be her life I’m saving by keeping you from the wedding.”
    They both knew it wasn’t Ryan keeping either of them out here, but it was a nicer image than that of The Preacher’s men chasing them, guns blazing.
    “I wasn’t going to marry her. Well, I might have if my best friend hadn’t asked her first. I was supposed to be the best man.” 
    She helped him shrug into a nylon poncho and rain pants. He tried to shy away from her attentions. It was galling to be so helpless, but then she looked up at him with those large dark eyes, eyes he could melt into, and he lost his train of thought.
    “I can’t keep calling you Ryan,” he said when he found his voice. She’d turned away to add his collection of demolition supplies to her backpack. “And I refuse to call you VD.” The glare she sent his way told him that not many who did would live to tell the tale. “What’s the V stand for? Vicky?”
    “Nope.” She handed him a pair of neoprene gloves, thick wool mittens, and a fleece balaclava. “Put these on. What’s wrong with Ryan? It’s my name.” 
    He tugged the hat on, but left the face mask part folded up, watched as she tossed some clean socks, a couple of garbage bags, a topographic map, a few bandages, a knife, a small Maglite, a Ziplock bag of matches, and a few MRE’s into a waistpack. She added a water bottle and handed it to him.
    “Too heavy?”
    “No. Ryan’s your husband’s name. You’re obviously not Irish. It doesn’t fit you.”
    She bristled at that, cutting him a sharp look as she fastened the waistpack around his hips. Then she effortlessly shouldered her own larger and he was certain, much heavier pack. “Ryan fits me fine.” 
    “Okey dokey, Smokey.” Damn, the woman was touchy. “Don’t forget the computer.”
    His